


Bruises

by MistyRay00



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Golden Age (Narnia), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love, Narnia, Recovery, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-03-07 23:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13445667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyRay00/pseuds/MistyRay00
Summary: The bruises on my wrists were the first thing he noticed.I was one of the maids for the wing where his study was located. It was very rare that I ever saw him, being it the household mistress always reminded us to clean quickly and make sure to be out before any of their majesties should decide to visit the room.But there were always mistakes.





	1. Chapter 1

The bruises on my wrists were the first thing he noticed. 

 

I was one of the maids for the wing where his study was located. It was very rare that I ever saw him, being it the household mistress always reminded us to clean quickly and make sure to be out before any of their majesties should decide to visit the room.

 

But there were always mistakes. 

 

I was dusting an especially enchanting looking volume of books in the far corner of his study, debating if I would get caught if I decided to flip through the pages for a minute. 

 

The thought hadn’t long to simmer in my mind before the heavy door swung open, the hinges squealing to announce the arrival of non-other that High King Peter himself. 

 

I immediately slid to the floor from my ladder, taking cover behind a half-bookcase that wasn’t built into the wall. It didn’t possess a backboard, so I could see through it.

 

When I finally settled my adrenaline, I peeped out from my covering to see if there was an exit I could take.  
It didn’t look likely. 

 

He was sitting, pensively reading over a document, brow furrowed. His desk was positioned just so that I couldn’t make my escape without being seen.  
With no hope of getting away at the moment, I decided to satisfy my curiosity and watch just a little. I doubted I would get another chance. Upon the occasion we did make the mistake of being in their majesties presence, we were not to look them in the eye.

 

I recalled my training, “Curtsy low, and keep your eyes down. Don’t speak. You’re not to draw any attention to yourself.” 

 

I had never seen any of their majesties. I scooted my eyes up above a row of books. 

 

The whisperings and giggles of the other maids that had seen him didn’t go unheard by me. So I thought I knew what to expect.  
I didn’t.

 

They said he was handsome, and that he was. Tall, masculine frame. Golden, tousled hair. I wasn’t close enough to see his eyes, but, supposedly, they were blue.

 

But that wasn’t what surprised me. 

 

When I looked up again, he sat this time with his head in his hands, fingers gripping just a smidge too tight on his scalp. 

 

Restless. That’s the word for it.

 

I moved my foot from under me, as it had begun to fall asleep. But the bottom of my shoe caught in the grout of the marble tile just so, and it made a faint squeak. 

 

I went dead-still. I heard a shifting of paper.

 

“Who’s there?” came the voice of the High King. If I weren’t so frightened, I might have lingered on the fact that the giggled gushings of the other maids about his voice being nice weren’t entirely wrong. 

 

I heard his chair shift back, and then footsteps. I quickly decided it would be better for me to reveal myself then for him to find me hiding. I didn’t want any accusations or suspicions. 

 

So as I gingerly but determinedly stood up and stepped out and forward, I found myself immediately in front of his majesty. Too close. 

 

I stepped back and dropped into a curtsey, keeping my eyes down.

 

Swallowing my fear, I spoke up. “I apologize, your majesty. I was cleaning, and I hadn’t any idea you were to return here. I’m terribly sorry.”

 

I could feel his eyes boring into me, assessing. 

 

“It’s quite alright. You just gave me a bit of a fright, that’s all.” If the humor that laced his statement was anything to go by, I wasn’t in trouble. I sighed in relief. I still kept my eyes down.

 

“Oh, and please rise. I’ve never curtsied myself, but it seems much more uncomfortable than bowing,” he said with a small laugh. I let a hesitant smile take over my lips. The thought of him curtsying was certainly not dull. 

 

As I came up, I spoke again. “May I get you anything, your majesty?”

 

He seemed to sink a little. “No, but thank you. You’re free to continue your work in here or go wherever else you are needed.” 

 

I hesitated. I had heard that their majesties came from a different world, and that they were still learning the customs of ours.

 

Apparently, his majesty didn’t know the scandal of being alone in a room with one of the opposite sex if you are unrelated or unmarried. 

 

But cleaning his study was my favorite job, as I loved all the books, and the main library was never a task given to me. I desperately didn’t want it to be cut short. Besides, I would have to join Betsy after this, and she annoyed me deeply. 

 

And no one would expect a king with a maid. It wasn’t as if I was a courtier lady or anyone of elevated rank that deserved to be guarded closely.  
No one would know if I stayed to finish, right?

 

“Will I not disturb your majesty if I continue here?” 

 

“No,” he said, “I’ll be just fine, but please, just for this afternoon, forsake calling me ‘your majesty.’ This is the one room I can be relieved of formalities.” 

 

I looked up. The smile that accompanied his request didn’t reach his eyes. 

 

Oh! I just looked him in the eye! I quickly turned my head back down. 

 

I nodded. “What would it please you for me to call you, then?”

 

“Call me Peter,” he said with a tired smile. “I am aware that it goes contradicts protocol, but just this afternoon, please.” His eyes held a pleading that somehow demanded compliance more than a firm command would.  
I nodded. 

 

We both returned to our tasks. Before he reached his desk, he turned back around.

 

“And what might I call you?”

 

I blinked. 

 

I heard myself answer with my name, but my mind was busy attempting to comprehend why on earth he would care. 

 

At some point he smiled and went back to whatever needed his attention on his desk, and I went back to my work, too stunned even to admire the lovely books as I cleaned. 

 

Mindlessly dusting for some time, I didn’t take care to mind my feet for the second time that day. 

 

Before I could catch myself, I fell a few steps down, knocking some books down as I tried to grab the shelf in my fall. 

I could only imagine the racket that I was making. So much for not distracting him. This is why they didn’t let me clean the main library. 

 

“Are you alright?” he called.

 

I sat up from the floor, fixing my skirts to the best of my ability, annoyed with myself. 

“Yes, I’m just clumsy. I apologize, your maje…,” I closed my eyes, “Peter, I mean.”

 

Calling him by his first name made me endlessly uncomfortable. Did he not know my rank? Or the implications of his request?

 

He offered his hand to me, and I hesitantly gave mine up out of politeness, knowing full well I could get myself up.

He was showing me too much attention for what I was. What’s his game? What could he want with me?

 

A hand that dwarfed my own pulled me up. 

 

Even though I was still avidly avoiding his eyes, I could feel him tense.  
He turned my wrist around in his hand, and it suddenly washed over me. The bruises in the very obvious shape of fingers that had gripped forcibly.

Oh, no.

 

I quickly snatched my hand away, bringing it to my side, hiding it behind my apron. 

 

He said my name softly. I closed my eyes, trying to mentally be anywhere else. If I weren’t so terrified, I might have taken a moment to realize his caring to remember my name.

 

A thousand different scenarios of how he might react flashed across my closed eyelids.

 

Would he release me from working here? The rumors went that he was kind, but the head maid said other things. Did she say those things just to scare us into obedience, or were they legitimate warnings?

 

“Who did this to you?” His question came hoarse, soft and concerned.  
I shook my head, starting to feel myself go into mental hibernation. I couldn’t do this. 

 

“Please open your eyes.”

 

I swallowed and mustered up all the courage I could. Slowly, my eyelids complied.

 

“Who did this to you?” he repeated.

 

“I don’t see why it matters.”

 

“I don’t’ see why on earth it wouldn’t. ___, tell me.”

 

I shook my head. 

 

“Is it the household mistress? Does she treat you poorly? I swear she’ll be gone by tomorrow if so.”

 

“No.” I swallowed. “No, she does not.”

 

“Then who?”

 

I can see from my downturned eyes that his hands are fidgeting, knuckles white. He wants to do something. 

 

But he can’t.

 

I shake my head again. “Your highness, I… can’t ask you to assist in my affairs. My rank is not…” I’m cut off.

 

“Peter. I’m just Peter in this room. Rank is fickle. And this is a matter of justice, not of stupid social status. I can bring whoever did this to you to the due punishment.”

 

His stance shifts closer to me, breaking the barrier between “out of reach” and “within arm’s length.” 

 

I call all my gumption to my side to utter the next phrase I said. When I look back on that day, I really don’t know how I managed to say it. My eyes turned back upward to meet his.

 

“Perhaps rank is truly fickle. But power is not. Otherwise I could have brought him to justice myself. Power is very tangible, thus why I cannot inform you any further, lest any harm be inflicted upon you or your family in return.”

 

He seemed greatly taken aback at my speech. 

 

“Are you implying that whoever did this to you has the capacity to threaten myself and my siblings?”

 

My eyes fell back to their position of sweeping the floor with their vision.

 

“Because if you are I must no longer ask out of respect for your privacy and freedom of choice but rather demand out of concern for the entirely of Narnia an answer from you.”

 

“I mean not that he is a menace to the monarchy. I simply mean he inflicts great damage on those who rise against him.”

 

I would know.

 

His majesty eyed me in question and let out a breath that sounded somewhat like a laugh, but had no humor in it.

 

“Even I was worried about myself alone, you are aware of the fact I have an army behind me, yes?”

 

“He’s slippery. He’s in and out and has done his damage before anyone even knows of his presence.”

 

“Our guards are top on the line, ___. It will take a very skilled man indeed to evade them.”

 

I shook my head and turned around, putting my back to him, forsaking all manners.

 

“____, I need you to…”

 

I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I immediately tensed and turned around, ready to defend myself. It was just second nature. 

 

But I had miscalculated how close he was, and I had definitely not planned for him to be leaning down, so my forehead bumped right against his. The pain of the bump was never even a thought, as I felt a rush of emotions wash over me that I knew not to be my own. 

 

Anger. Concern. Frustration. And… Hurt? 

 

I knew immediately from the unfamiliar feel of them that these were not my own emotions, but rather his. 

 

Then came the memories in flashes. What he ate for breakfast. A conversation with his brother. A discussion over the borders. 

 

Memories from today. 

 

His today, not mine.

 

Then a thought hit me. Oh, no.

 

I looked to his bewildered face and I immediately knew the answer. 

 

“____…”

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

The day was a quiet enough one.

The head cook, Mrs. Dolie, had taken a liking to me, and she would sometimes steal me away to run errands for her. Getting out and about was a rare specialty for us maids, so I always jumped at the opportunity.

That particular day, she needed some extra flour, yeast, and produce, so she sent me to the market. Normally, such baking necessities were delivered directly to the castle, but when last minute run-outs happened, trips to the market were in due.

I liked the market. Everything from bright, highly detailed rugs to fresh produce to handmade candles.

I walked through the shops for some time before starting on the task I was sent to do. I didn’t normally procrastinate so, but the market was one of my very favorite places.

I selected a couple dozen carrots, some celery, and a burlap bag full of onions from one vendor, who was a dwarf, and then I bought measured out two pounds of flour and a small package of yeast from another vendor.

Everything went smoothly. The bargains were fair, and the castle’s kitchen budgeted to support the local farmers with a pretty penny anyway. That’s one of the things I really did appreciate with how their majesties ran things: they really did care. Or, at least, they were very good at acting.

With the purchases safely tucked into a leather satchel I slung across one shoulder, I started my journey back to Cair Paravel.

The wooded area between the market and Cair Paravel was somewhere everyone rather avoided at night, as it was the known gathering of those whose cup runneth over with energy and passion but also rather lacking in morals. None were very known to truly be threatening; just troublesome and pestering. Few of the dryads resided in the trees in this portion of the woods, so mischief could brew without eyes on them.

In the daytime, however, it was safe, as most of said troublemakers were still sleeping off a hangover.

But as it played out, my concerns laid in the wrong place.

I was very much lost in thought, enjoying the lushness of the green branches touching above me, when I heard a noise behind me.

I froze.

He made no attempt to conceal himself, he had no reason to.

I remembered him. No matter how much I tried to forget and shove the memories down, I couldn’t.

A nine-year-old girl had once trusted this man. He had said he loved her. He had said she was valuable.

He had done things that screamed otherwise.

Placing filthy hands where they shouldn’t have ever been, his words sickeningly soft. Then throwing brutal fists in direction where they had no hope of being deflected, his words harsh and pointed.

I’m not sure which I had dreaded more.

Then I stood, suppressed memories striking me all at once.

He walked towards me.

Run! I heard my mind shout, but my feet refused to comply.

All those times I told myself just what I would do if I ever saw him again. Maybe shout at him. Maybe give him a cold, harsh piece of my mind. Maybe just aloofly pretend I didn’t even notice him. Like he never affected me at all.

I did none of those. I stood frozen in fear, my mind returning to the body of a terrified nine-year-old.

“You certainly have grown,” was how he decided to start the interaction.

I said nothing, my mind too busy to spit out a sentence.

He moved closer to me.

“Have you nothing to say to me?”

I remained silent.

“Pity. You always had such a quick wit,” he traced his hand up to my waist, “And you were a very fast learner.”

Resisting the urge to vomit, I finally took a solid step back.

His smile slipped a little.

“You don’t want to cause any trouble now. Let’s just go behind there. There’s no one around anyway.”

“No.” I spoke, taking another step back. Before I could wait for a response, I felt my courage rise, and I turned quickly to run.

He had predicted my movement, and he caught my arm, twisting me back toward him painfully.

I yelled for help, knowing where this was going. My thoughts shifted to the dryads, but then I remembered how few lived in these parts.

I struggled against him, kicking and scrambling in every which direction.

Although perhaps shocked, as I never had the gumption to resist as a child, he wasn’t unprepared for resistance.

He shifted his iron grip to my wrist, fingers digging into my skin.

My concentration shifted to my wrist, I was unprepared for a sweep of one of his legs knocking my feet out from underneath me, sending me falling to the ground. His figure over me, knees trapping my legs to the ground, hands gripping my wrists, I had lost any leverage I had.

From then, my mind decided to go numb.

I knew exactly what happened from there.

In the High King’s study, I stood, eyes wide, hoping with every fiber of my being that he hadn’t seen that memory.

His eyes greyer and wet around the edges, my hope was looking less and less likely to be fulfilled.

“I’m… trying to make sense of what I just saw.” He finally broke a moment of electric silence.

“What all did you see?” I asked, not fully wanting to know the answer.

He hesitated.

“I saw his face. I saw what he did to you.” His voice was low, dangerous. “He will pay for what he did, ___. I’ll see to it personally. I swear it.”

At this point, I was doing everything in my power to hold back tears. So I chanted that menace of a man’s name in my head, over and over. It always stopped the tears. It made me feel nothing. Numb, my preferred state of being.

Peter softened his voice as he spoke to me again. “I didn’t just see, though. I felt… I have difficulty explaining it. It was as if I were there myself. Like I saw it through your eyes.”

I nodded.

I can imagine he had questions, but I was so thankful he chose not to ask them now.

When I finally looked up to him, he seemed an odd combination of feelings all in one. Restless in wanting to take action, but still somewhat defeated.

It hadn’t been what I expected. I expected the same thing from the two people I had been brave enough to tell when I was smaller.

Things along the lines of “Well, you should have…” and “You can’t tell any man what happened to you. You’re damaged goods, and they won’t want you.”

I expected shaming. I expected chastisement. I was immune to both by now, but it still didn’t make them pleasant.

I certainly didn’t expect an embrace.

I tensed, instantly, not knowing what to do. Not knowing what he meant with it.

Then came his words, “___, I’m so, so sorry.”

I lost it at that. My tears falling freely, but still silently. I leant into his arms, a little.

There was one person I told when I was little that explained how anyone touching me from then on will frighten me, but I just had to hide it and push through it.

That had been true in some circumstances, and human touch had been very frightening to me for some time. But I had avoided it to the extent where I had started to be starved for it.

So although I wasn’t entirely trusting of the embrace, I needed it, badly.

So I let my arms embrace him in return, my silent rebellious tears falling on him.

It’s funny. The things that remove propriety, leaving just humans, beautiful and horrible in their brokenness.

And so I stayed for quite some time, reveling in the release of knowing another human simply sees you.


	3. Chapter 3

I came to learn that King Peter doesn’t have a great deal of patience when it comes to justice being carried out. 

 

It was the next day that he ordered a warrant out for him.

 

Life went back to the way it was the rest of the day, and I was thankful for the dull redundancy of cleaning to set my mind at ease. 

 

Well, at least I hoped it would ease it. 

 

Naturally, it didn’t. 

 

My thoughts danced a mocking waltz across my mind, refusing to leave me in peace. 

 

King Peter hadn’t asked any more questions about what happened between us, as it wasn’t long after that his brother, King Edmund, had come to King Peter for his opinion on something. 

 

King Edmund seemed rather shocked at my presence, especially that he found us in an embrace. 

King Peter had looked to me with a question in his eyes, which had read something along the lines of “Can I tell him?”

 

I nodded. 

 

His brother seemed a very pensive man. He took the information in, sitting quietly and flinching as he learned the true nature of the issue at hand. His eyes held apology. He too assured me something would be done about it promptly. 

 

As I dusted a hall table in a north corridor, my thoughts swam back to the memory exchange that had happened between myself and High King Peter. 

 

I knew from experience that strange things occurred when my forehead touched another person’s. It had never happened as a memory exchange, though, only an emotional one. As a younger girl, barely a teenager, being held down by that man, it had happened only twice. 

 

Both times, he recoiled, disgusted with me and confused. He must have felt the same emotions I felt toward him. Of course he was repulsed. Terrified. 

 

He must’ve not liked being afraid. Especially of what he was used to having absolute authority over. 

 

That was the first time my skin knew his fists. 

 

But that wasn’t the worst part of that memory. Oh, no, the scars of the mind don’t stich nearly as easily as those of the skin.

 

I felt what he felt. 

 

The rush of power. The corrupted lust. The desolate desperation of being absolutely consumed with one’s self. 

 

It made me feel filthier than his rancid breath on my face. His dirty hands on my thighs. The shameful names he called me. 

 

The second time it happened, he was less dazzled and far more prepared to act. 

 

Despite my purpled face that stung for weeks, it was ultimately his loss.

 

Bruises on thighs and wrists are easily covered with cloth. Eye sockets and cheek bones sounded a silent, insistent SOS.

 

Someone saw.

 

“You, lass,” called a steely yet feminine voice. I lifted my eyes from the clothes I currently was scrubbing against a rock in the river. “Aslan’s mane! Who did this to you, girl?”

 

I shook my head. 

 

Her long, sinewy body shifted. A single tap of her foot. 

 

“No mind, then.” She stooped slightly, attempting to catch my line of sight. “You can be gone from whoever it is. I can assure your safety if you come with me.”

 

I tensed. I knew there were worse humans to be shackled to than that man.

 

“I have no ill intent,” she spoke, blunt and clear. “I have been put overseeing the acquiring of maids for… a rather large household. I can see you at minimum can do washing.”

 

My cast-down eyes studied the back of my soap-dried hands. 

 

I mulled over her words. A beat of silence. 

 

“This household is of great security. You’d have shared quarters, small, but out of the reach of whatever monster has so delicately colored your features.”

 

I looked up at her, interest piqued, but remained silent.

 

She waited for another heartbeat. 

 

“Come on now, lass. I have two more positions to fill. I haven’t all day. What’s it to be?”

 

I answered, hoarsely. “I’ll come.”

 

“You’ll work,” she corrected. “I’m not in the business of taking in strays. You’ll work, earning your food, roof, and fair compensation. Understood?”

 

I nodded. I was comforted by knowing what was in it for her. I found that people’s selfish natures tended to be more reliable than their good intentions. 

 

So we traveled to this “rather larger household.”

 

Imagine my surprise when we started approaching the outer wall of Cair Paravel itself.

 

I wanted to capture her attention to inquire about it as she walked ahead of me, but I noticed I didn’t know the appropriate title for her. 

 

“I don’t know what to call you,” I said, voice shakier than I cared for. 

 

“Mistress will suffice. You will be trained in all courtesies necessary, titles included, although you won’t be seeing their majesties hardly at all, if ever.”

 

So I was to be working in the palace. I cared not. All I cared was that she was right: that man wouldn’t be able to touch me here.

 

 

 

I had expected that King Peter would want to ask questions about what happened when our foreheads touched at some point. 

 

What I didn’t expect was the way he went about it. 

 

I expected to be summoned by a higher servant. Not to be searched after by him personally. By name. 

 

“Pardon, do you know where ___ is?” I heard him asking Glory as she hot pressed a curtain. The halls really echo something awful. I heard her timid, giggling reply, directing him towards me. 

 

Oh, bother. I could only imagine all the annoying questions and looks to be thrust my way this evening. The High King calling for me by name. Fancy that.

 

A fawn accompanied him, who I believed might be Mr. Tumnus. Word of who’s who travels quickly among the maids.

 

The way he took me in when he saw me made me feel antsy. It wasn’t crude, his eyes were on my face. It’s just.. I was used to people looking over me. Not at me. 

 

“____, this is Mr. Tumnus. Tumnus, ____.”

 

Tumnus nodded his head in greeting, and I curtsied. 

 

“Tumnus has joined us for the sake of propriety,” King Peter explained. I detected a hint of agitation in his voice. Having someone accompany him mustn’t have been his idea. 

 

“Truly, just for the appearance of it,” Tumnus elaborated, ears fluttering. “I understand this is a matter to be discussed with discretion. I will wait out the doors of whatever room you choose. I don’t wish to be an intrusion.”

 

I decided I liked Tumnus. 

 

We chose the nearest solar, which Tumnus patiently waited outside of. The entryway was slightly concealed by an arch from the main hall, making it less apparent that he wasn’t in the room with us. 

 

“How are you? Your wrists… any other injuries?” he opened his mouth slightly, then closed it, looking away from me briefly. “Forgive me… I’m trying to find the correct words.”

 

I blinked, taken aback. I hadn’t expected him to ask after my well-being. It shouldn’t surprise me. I felt his concern earlier. Still.

 

“The bruises don’t bother me. I’m well acquainted to them.” I cringed as soon as the words left my mouth. I had meant to ease his concern, not elaborate on the past.

 

His eyes widened, hands in fists again. “I sensed your recognition of him in the memory, and he obviously knew you, but I… heavens, ____, how long has this been happening?”

 

I swallowed, then whispered my answer. “From the time I was nine years.”

 

He gripped the back of the settee with both hands, jaw clenched. He closed his eyes, head bowing. 

 

Silence. 

“Alsan’s mane,” he finally exhaled, running a hand through his hair. 

 

 

Facing me again, he seethed, “He will die for it. I won’t allow it being resolved any other way.”

 

I believed him. 

 

“So be it.” I assured, looking him dead in the eye, tone even. 

 

He nodded once.

 

“His warrant is out. If I haven’t word back by evening, I will personally attend the search.”

 

“You needn’t…” 

 

His facial expression stopped me. “Yes, I really do.”

 

We both stood, quiet, for a moment before he gestured to one of the upholstered chairs. 

 

“Please, sit.”

 

I did, and he followed on the settee across from the chair.

 

I could tell his mind was busy. 

 

“____, I don’t desire to press, but I am immensely curious as to what exactly happened earlier.”

 

I nodded. I let out a long breath. “I don’t know much about it, Your Highness…”

 

“Peter,” he corrected, simply. 

 

I looked away from him. That didn’t make me any less uneasy.

 

“It happens when my forehead touches another’s. It’s only happened twice before today, but today was the first that it was an exchange of memories and emotions. Prior, it had only been emotions.” 

 

He leant forward, resting his forearms on his knees, brow quizzical. 

 

“Do you know when it started?”

 

“The first time I remember I was eleven years.”

 

“And it happened with…?”

I nodded, somber.

 

He inhaled.

 

“Do you know where he currently resides?”

 

I shook my head, eyes sweeping the floor. “He has no set home, traveling a great deal.”

 

“Do you think it possible he left the Narnian borders?”

 

I thought for a second. “No, not likely.”

 

Taking the information in, he leaned back into the settee. 

 

I looked out the window. The sun was setting.

 

We both turned at the knock on the door.

 

“Come in,” King Peter summoned.

 

Tumnus gingerly clopped in. “Your Majesty, dinner time is drawing near.”

 

King Peter looked to the window and sighed. “So it is.” He turned back to Tumnus. “But we have no guests this evening, yes?”

 

Tumnus hesitated. “Correct, but your gentle sister might have a speech if you aren’t prompt.”

 

A smirk eased over King Peter’s face. “Yes, she certainly would.”

 

“I will update you in the morning, ____, on the status of the search,” he said, rising. “Tumnus, could you please give a message to the head mistress that ____ can have the rest of the week off from her duties.” 

 

“Oh, please, it’s alright,” I quickly amended. “If it pleases Your Highness, I’d rather continue to work.”

 

He studied me for a moment. “It’s Peter, and are you certain?”

 

I glanced to Tumnus, seeing if he caught the King’s request to address him informally. His slightly confused expression confirmed he did. I hoped he wasn’t a gossip. 

 

“It keeps my mind settled,” I explained.

 

“Very well. Good evening, _____, I will see you in the morning.”

“Good evening Your…”

 

He glanced at me, expectant.

 

I cleared my throat. “Good evening to you as well.” 

 

He shook his head, a playful side smile over his lips. “I’ll win eventually.” 

 

Tumnus and King Peter left after I vacated the room. These were protocols for a lady, not a servant. It made me anxious. 

 

 

The servants’ supper table fell quiet as I walked in. Three of the maids, two human and one fawn, all started whispering to each other. 

 

I sighed. So it began.

 

I decided to eat my supper in the kitchen itself to avoid all the stares or questions. Plus, I knew Mrs. Dolie would be in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the dessert for the main hall. I knew from her telling that she liked having that time to herself, but I really didn’t know where else to go to eat.

 

I tried to enter softly, but ended up knocking over a copper bowl with my elbow. This is why they also didn’t let me serve food in the main hall. 

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to disturb you…” I started, picking up the content of the bowl.

 

“Pish -tosh. Yes, you do,” she called over her apron string clad shoulder, voice jovial. 

 

I smiled lightly. She wasn’t wrong.

 

“How was your day, love?” she inquired, still not turning around. 

 

I was about to respond when she finished her question with “Or should I call you ‘precious one who’s called on personally by the High King.’

 

I rolled my eyes. “Not you too!” 

 

She laughed, a full, robust one.

 

I couldn’t stay annoyed long. Her laugh was contagious. 

 

A brief chuckle escaped my own lips.

 

What an interesting day it had turned out to be.


	4. Chapter 4

Later that evening I sat on a mattress in Mrs. Dolie’s quarters. She offered for me to stay with her until all the chatter died down. They were small, but cozy. And she didn’t have to share her room.

She saved me from my shared quarters with would surely be filled with curious condescension.

“Later this week at most, dear,” she assured, blowing out the candle. “The gossips always find newer, more scandalous matters to feed on.”

Unfortunately, the feeding had only begun. 

 

I was back. There in the small wooden room where that man first touched me.

Looking down, my body was my own, but much smaller. Younger. 

I knew what happened next. 

A hand inched up my leg. I braced myself, waiting for it to be over.

“Remove your hand from her.” The low voice wasn’t loud; it didn’t have to be. Pure, frigid menace made its intent very clear in tone. “Now.” I knew that voice. 

My head knocked against the small wooden chest on Mrs. Dolie’s floor with the force at which I startled awake.

The dream never ended that way.

“Are you alright dearie?” came the groggy, concerned words from Mrs. Dolie.

Stuffing the pillow under my neck and curling my arms around myself, I assured her, “Fine.”

Five deep breaths later, my vision turned to black again. 

Cool blue and white fur adorned a tall, tall woman. She wasn’t gentle; her very being radiated otherwise. 

Jadis. I didn’t know where the name came from, but I suddenly knew it was her although I never had seen her myself. So this was the evil that had once held my home in tyranny.

A dark haired young man appeared on the scene. 

I barely registered him as King Edmund before the witch drove her sword through him. 

Sorrow ripped through my chest. At least ten different memories flashed across my mind. Memories of telling him off. Of patching a sore on his knee as he reluctantly accepted the help. Of playing with him as a baby. 

More memories that didn’t belong to me.

Anguished screams brought my attention to two young ladies. Susan and Lucy. I hadn’t met them, but I instantly knew them. Felt deep love them. 

The witch turned. Dread settled in my bones.

She took a single step toward the queens, and King Peter charged toward her swinging his sword to clash with hers. She had two swords, though. 

I felt that awful dread again. I somehow knew how this ended. 

Not even thinking to my lack of a weapon, I ran toward Jadis’ back. She didn’t seem to be aware of me. I swept low, diving for her feet, knocking her off balance. King Peter took the opening, and with one swing, he sliced at one of her arms, severing it. 

An anguished yell from Jadis and another swing from Peter, and she fell, defeated. 

I bolted awake. 

What on earth. 

I knew at that point that sleep wasn’t going to find me again, so I gently slid on the loosest overdress I had and my leather shoes before tiptoeing out of Mrs. Dolies’s quarters. 

One of the turrets near the wing that housed the staff quarters was guarded by a centaur named Adonis.

I liked him. Mostly because he let me sit up there from time to time when I just needed time to think. 

I didn’t get to often, as the guards changed stations on different nights, and I didn’t want to test my luck with another guard. He told me which nights were his to guard the turret so I knew when I could come. 

Luckily, tonight was one I knew he was up there. 

As I climbed the winding stairs up, I tightened my overdress to appropriate modesty, trying not to trip over it while doing so.   
Adonis smiled when he saw me, but he didn’t break his stance. Eyes still scanning the horizon, he addressed me. “Be sleep a rare commodity for you, lass?” 

A felt a light smile coming on. “For tonight, I trade it for time for pensiveness.” 

“Then perhaps my tale of Axiel’s first attempt at sparring should be saved for another night.” 

Adonis often spoke of his family, especially his son. He was young, just now of age to begin learning basic combat. 

“No, please, do tell. I really just want to clear my mind. Some humor would do me well.”

I listened for hours until the sun started to rise, setting the ocean ablaze in reflected light. 

“The guard change is soon, lass. You best return to your chambers.”

I nodded. “Please greet your wife and Axiel for me.”

He nodded, eyes still scanning the horizon. Never not scanning. 

“A pleasant day to you,” he bid me farewell.

I resisted the urge to scoff. I smiled instead. Pleasant. Heh. 

 

 

At the staff breakfast table a few hours later, as I scooped a spoonful of oats into my mouth, an owl fluttered in. 

The morning chatter fell silent.

“Miss ___ , your presence has been requested in the main library.”

I resisted the urge to hit my head against the table. Apparently, King Peter did not possess the art of subtlety. 

Honestly! He could have just sent someone to the head mistress and she could pass the message on to me privately.

Or he simply wasn’t concerned with concealing our meetings. Probably had no clue of the social repercussions for me. 

I slowly stood up, careful not to trip over the bench, dusted off my skirt, and followed the owl out of the room. 

I could feel every set of eyes boring into my back as I left. I wanted to crawl into a hole. Aslan, take me now. 

The owl didn’t say much on the long walk (and flight) from the staff dining area to the main library. He did, however, introduce himself as Haldon.

As one of guards opened a door to the library for us, my breath hitched. All those books!

“His Majesty High King Peter will be with you briefly,” Haldon’s steady, lower voice rang out among the towers of books.

I remembered my manners and curtsied my farewell to him before turning back to the books, running my hand over a section. I had just picked one out and began reading the intro when the doors opened. 

The book clamped together in my hands with a thud. I scrambled to put it back on the shelf before King Peter saw me.

I was still trying to shove it back into place when he saw me. 

I stopped my struggle, holding the book across my chest in defeat. It was moot at this point anyway. 

I laughed and brushed a fly away hair behind my ear. What else can you do when you’re caught red-handed?

“Forgive me, your majesty,” I chuckled out, trying desperately to gain some tone that said I was actually sorry.

His eyes sparkled with a smile. Slightly sunken eyes. Sleep deprived eyes. 

“It’s quite alright,” he assured. “You’re welcome to borrow any as you please.”

My heart skipped a beat. Endless reading? Yes, please. 

But if anyone saw the book in my things, they’d assume I stole it, and I’d have to explain permission from the High King, and that would create another field day. I’d just have to ensure it stayed hidden. 

“Thank you,” I said, meeting his eyes. 

His brow creased as he read the title to the book I held. 

“I’ve read that one. I remember it being rather dull.”

I laughed again. 

“No battles, knights, passionate love, survival stories, magic, or really anything exciting. I think it’s a man’s thoughts on taxation, if I remember correctly. Although informative, not quite my taste for leisure reading.” 

“And knights and passionate love would be?” I asked, eyebrow raised, before I could stop myself. I seemed to be in a contest to see how many laws of protocol I could break in one morning.

“Perhaps,” A gentle smile and eyes that matched marked his open expression.

I looked away. I didn’t like the feeling that washed over me.

“ ___I had a dream last night and I… was hoping you could enlighten me on something.”

I nodded. “I have a similar question for you, if it pleases you to answer.”

“Of course.” He paused, leaning a shoulder against one of the shelves, pinching the top of his nose, resting his face on that hand. 

“I first dreamed… you were there, so was that… demon,” he trailed off. 

I looked down, summoning numbness to wash over me. He dreamed of him too, then.

“But the quality of dream felt… strange. Held a certain quality to it. I…” 

I shot my eyes to his face in question. His own eyes were looking to the side in concentration, studying a bookshelf he must’ve been looking to help him gather his thoughts.

“I dare say I felt an element of magic. Despite the… happenings of the dream. Both of them.” 

He looked to my face. My chest felt warm. What happenings? Surely he …

“Forgive me, ___. The dreams go beyond my words’ adequate description. Something I can voice is that your presence was extremely tangible in both.”

I silently digested his words for a moment.

“As was your presence in my dreams,” I spoke, my voice small, but my eyes trained on his.

Something sparked across his features, suddenly making him seem more awake.

“What did you dream of?” he questioned, eager.

“First, a reoccurring memory dream,” I hesitated. Then didn’t. “Except you were there. You told him to remove his hands from me.” 

“I had the same dream.”

“And I dreamt of Jadis…”

He looked away. I tried to ignore the shadow that fell over his face. “Me as well.” 

A silent beat. Two.

I watched the question form on his face before he opened his mouth. “Might this have something to do with your…”

“I think it might, yes.”

“But this... dream sharing never happened before?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I think…”

I was silenced by one of doors opening to reveal Haldon. He landed on the floor and dipped his wing in front of him in a bow. “Your majesty, General Orieus wishes to have an immediate audience with you, if it pleases you.” 

Peter nodded for them to come in. 

Orieus entered in full armour, standing tall, but with tired circles under his eyes. 

“Your highness, I come with news of the search party.”


	5. Chapter 5

I flopped my rag unnecessarily heavily into the bucket, making a splashing sound. The noise gave relief, if only briefly from hearing Betsy’s annoyingly high-pitched voice.

 

“Haven’t you heard the fuss about Lady Cassandra? I’ve been told she and Lord Marcus were found…”

 

I tried to tune her out. I scanned my mind for something louder than she was.

 

The Grand Hall when a ball was being hosted? No, too chaotic.

 

A torrential rain? Nice, but not quite enough to drown her out.

 

A recent happy memory? Mrs. Dolie? No, that just reminded me of the relentless whispers that now blanketed me everywhere I went.

 

Then blonde hair and a kind smile flashed across my memory.

 

He… was too kind. And I knew enough about human nature to know that kindness rarely came without intent. What he wanted from me, however, completely evaded me. And that scared me even more. And even deeper, it scared me that I wanted his kindness.

 

I snapped the thought shut, fully focusing on Betsy’s now more tolerable monologue.  _ Anything _ was better than  _ that _ .

 

Then I thought about  _ that _ man. I felt my body flinch as my hands kept scrubbing the marble floor. I felt the shame rise up in my cheeks, but something else did too. Something redder, something more insistent. My stomach churned.  

 

The headmistress, often in our meetings or just in passing, uttered little sayings. “Anger doesn’t solve anything,” was a frequent one, especially when she was settling a disagreement between two staff members. I rolled her words over in my mind now.

 

Maybe it doesn’t solve anything, but there was something about people getting what was coming to them.

 

I recalled Orieus’ report from the morning.

 

“Your Highness, what we believe is the man’s trail, along with some witness accounts, lead us to believe he fled to Ettinsmoor. He must have learned of his warrant rather quickly.”

 

King Peter nodded, jaw stern. “Let us hope if the cold doesn’t get him, the giants will.”

 

I knew from the gossip I actually cared to listen to that any alliances with Ettinsmoor were shakey at very best. Sending any search party there would certainly be a waste of good men.

 

Peter turned to me, solemn, but sincere. “I’m sorry this hasn’t ended in more absolution. He has more than likely written his own doom by his choice of refuge, however.”

 

Once Orieus and the other officers returned to other duties, and I attempted to return to mine, quietly shifting out of the doors with the others.

 

A voice froze me before I could get too far.

 

“Lady ____ , could you remain behind please?”

 

_ What could he need to meet on now? _ I closed my eyes and turned around, remembering my manners to drop into a curtsey. “As your majesty pleases.”

 

One of the soldiers accompanying Orieus shot me a curious look. I could feel my cheeks go red. And my blood even redder.

 

After the last clops grew faint in the hall, I turned to face the High King, eyes on his.

“Sire, I mean no offense, but if it pleases you, if our meetings weren’t of a private nature and also publicly known, it would profit my nerves greatly.” I tried not to huff, thinking of the looks and questions that surely awaited me after this one.

 

His face switched from surprise to confusion in a split second.

 

“Forgive me, my lady, I don’t quite follow.”

“Gossip and maids go like toast and butter. The private manner of our meetings being well known among the servants has called eyebrows to raise. I am apt to handle it, but I would prefer to not need to tolerate it, if possible.”

 

“Oh.” He turned his head to the side slightly, and the High King blushed. He  _ blushed _ . Fancy that. My eyes lingered on the wall out of decency.

 

“Please don’t take my meaning as lack of appreciation. I’m forever indebted for the care and action you’ve given to my circumstance…”

 

“No, please,” he interrupted “I take your meaning.”  Then he was quiet for a short moment, licking his lips to bat down the corner of his mouth that seemed to want to… smile?

“I apologize for the trouble it’s caused you. Truly. I will certainly mind my manners better in our future meetings, Madame.”

 

A hot flush rushed along my collar bone as I realized what I had just done. Had I all but  _ scolded _ the High King? And future meetings? What on earth could he need me for now that our only tie of conversation was now absolved? More about my ability? I had no true answers for that.

 

“I’m afraid the damage is already done on this occasion however.” He didn’t hide his smile now, eyes soft. “I wanted to ensure you found a book of your liking before you left.”

I felt  _ really _ bad now. I briefly rushed a few apologies past my mind, all sounding ill-fitting and awkward.

 

I closed my eyes, forcing my embarrassment at myself down.

 

“Thank you, King Peter,” I managed when I opened my eyes again.

 

“Well, I’m at least glad we’ve progressed from ‘your highness’ and such. The next achievement would be to just get you to drop the ‘king’ part.” His smile was earnest, if not a little mischievous. Was he…taunting me?

 

Before I could think about it, I quipped back, “Pitty. I was hoping you’d deem me ‘Maid ___ of the western wing’ to match the formality.”

 

He looked stunned for a small moment before bursting into a short laugh that seemed to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes in the way they lit up.

 

“Your wit is not to be trifled with,” he chuckled out, eyes still sparkling with mischief.  “Aslan only knows who’d come out alive if you and Ed were to battle with it.”

 

I smiled, slightly smug with myself.

 

“For now, though, please take a browse through the shelves. I have a meeting I’m due at promptly, so I’ll leave you to it.”

 

My gaze swept the room full of pages and covers, eyes dreamy. “Thank you, King Peter.”

 

“My honest pleasure.” Without looking back to him, I knew he was looking at me.

 

I turned back, curtsied, and although King Peter seemed disappointed I had felt the need, said his farewell and left the room.

 

I spent what felt like hours lazily browsing books, running my fingers over the binding, flipping through pages, until I found one that suited my fancy. Knights, magic, and passionate love included. I smiled to myself, remembering who might also find this particular read alluring.

 

Then shook myself mentally.

 

I was better than this. I was. 

 

*****

 

I stayed with Mrs. Dolie the remnant of the week, as a summon of the High King in front of everyone attending staff breakfast meant relentless torment and teasing for me.

 

It didn’t, however, keep the glares from coming during the day. 

 

The nights were peaceful, though. 

 

Except when it happened again. The dreams.

 

_ I startled awake in a bed that certainly wasn’t my own. I only briefly took in the quilts woven of scratchy fabrics I didn’t recognize before I felt the distinct sensation of someone else at my back...in the same bed. _

 

_ I quickly flipped on my side, only to find King Peter of all people, with a similarly confused expression.  _

 

_ Suddenly, the room filled with sound, calling both of our attention to it. A loud buzzing I couldn’t put my finger on seemed to rattle the ground that I was quickly jumping to my feet on. Across the room, a dark- haired young boy sprung to his feet as well, his face obscured by the shadow of the room. King Peter’s voice called to him from behind me, “Ed! Get Sue and Lucy. I’ll find mum.” _

 

_ I only was allowed to wonder momentarily why King Peter looked himself but King Edmund was a child when a screeching whistle pierced my ears and the sky out the room’s window exploded with light.  _

 

_ The wooden room quaked at the impact, and I screamed, covering my ears as my knees buckled under me. But at once sure hands were under my arms, pulling me up to my feet.  _

 

_ “We have to get down to the safe! Stay with me!” _

 

_ His fingers intertwined with mine, gripping my hand as he lead me out of the room and down the stairs. There a woman rushed out of a room in what had to be her sleeping gown, eyes wide and urgent.  _

 

_ King Peter reached for her, and she took his other hand. “Where’s Edmund? And the girls?” _

 

_ “Already out. We need to go!”  _

 

_ We broke into a run, the woman and I ahead, only making it to the door as another bone-chilling whistle whipped through the air. The house shook again, this time wood cracked as the ceiling started to cave, one beam that would fall straight for the man at my back when it broke.  _

 

_ “Peter!” I yelled, trying to alert him, but he looked to me instead of up where he needed to.  _

 

_ Another crack above, and I knew the beam had to have broken loose. _

 

_ I didn’t give another moment’s thought before diving at him, shoving us both against the wall, away from the falling roof.  _

 

_ Slamming hard into his chest, I gripped hard into the fabric at my fingers as several seconds of crashing and crumbling commenced, keeping my eyes tightly shut. _

 

_ Then, something shifted, and I suddenly became aware that this was, in fact, a dream. But that didn’t stop the sensation of warm fingers at my cheek, brushing a stray hair back. _

 

_ My eyes shot up to his, confused, searching for answers. _

 

_ His smile was soft, just like I remember it being in the library, and I wanted simultaneously to close my eyes and never see it again and do whatever it took to make it stay. _

 

_ Instead, I did neither. I just stared, wide-eyed and terrified of goodness.  _

 

_ Smart fish knew better than to take bait when it’s attached to a string. Smart women knew better than to take kindness when it’s attached to a string.  _

 

_ But I couldn’t see the string. And that made it somehow all the more ominous.  _

 

_ “You called me Peter,” he said, voice low and tender.  _

 

_ I felt like I was falling the wind in my lungs left me so quickly.  _

  
  
  


And I awoke in my real bed, gasping for air that I had all along. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
